


Notes and Observations

by fishpoets



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishpoets/pseuds/fishpoets
Summary: Five Overwatch members and the glimpses they get of Jesse & Hanzo's developing relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started some drabbles to try out writing different characters and it... somehow turned into this?? because apparently I can't stop with the mchanzo for like 2 seconds
> 
> anyway enjoy, and happy new year!

 

GENJI:

 

Shimada eyes are sharp eyes, and a cyborg's even more so. It's no surprise that Genji notices first.

 

He's been keeping watch on Hanzo's progress since the moment he coaxed him, reluctant and wary, to join this new, fledgling Overwatch. No one knew what to expect when Hanzo showed up in Gibraltar. Seeing his brother step off the ramp of the carrier on to the tarmac made apprehension seize in Genji's chest. There he was, standing strong and proud and so terribly isolated, even as Genji's teammates gathered around to greet him.

 

Knowing his brother, Genji had imagined Hanzo acting in many different ways; being reclusive, perhaps, or terse. Maybe hostile.

 

Reality has proven more interesting.

 

Not to say it hasn't taken a long time for Hanzo to settle into the group. Long weeks fraught with tension. Genji's brother is, after all, a man composed of sharp edges – but he's been softer, lately. Less fractured. Less harsh.

 

Slowly but surely, he's becoming part of life at the Watchpoint. He joins team meals most days. He offers his expertise in tactical meetings. He fits seamlessly into training simulations – Genji has even heard him giving out praise for a shot or maneuver well-executed. Rare, but it's something.

 

He's starting to make friends.

 

Genji watches from across the mess hall as Hanzo flicks McCree's plaid-covered bicep – chiding him for being cheeky, probably, judging by the smirk on the cowboy's face. A conversation over lunch is nothing noteworthy, but that little flick grabs Genji's attention. It's a mannerism he knows well. His brother used to do it all the time. When they were boys he'd bestowed it on the cook and some of the other staff that cared for them. His few friends, as a teenager. The bodyguard he'd favored for a spell – that one was interesting. And now the honor has passed to McCree.

 

Of all the people here, the gunslinger is among the last that Genji would have expected his brother to seek out for company. They were incompatible, he'd thought. Too similar in some ways and too different in others. Opposites in outward personality, both slow to trust, both in their own ways too abrasive and quick to anger, too fiercely protective of what they consider theirs. They would never get on. A shame, since McCree is a good friend to Genji and has been for a long time – but it seems he was too quick to judge. Apparently Hanzo is still capable of surprising him.

 

They drink together sometimes in the evenings. He's seen them, sitting side by side, bridging the gap between them with the passing of a bottle or flask. They don't talk much but the set of his brother's shoulders is relaxed. Doesn't take a cyborg's eyes to see there's _something_ there.

 

Genji files the moment in the mess hall away with the others he's collected: a guide to help him figure out the person his brother has become. Interesting indeed. He'll keep an eye on them. He wants to see where this goes.

 

 

*

 

D.VA:

 

Hana's used to sleeping badly. Between the bad dreams and worse memories her nights are often rough. She gets up way too early, unrested, and immediately it all begins again: the constant pressure and stress of fighting, of streaming, of always being 'on' – on view, on duty, on top, _always number one_ \---

 

Some days she needs time just for herself.

 

Today she's squirreled herself away in one of the smaller rec rooms with her handheld and a drive full of ROMs. The room's kinda dusty. People don't come here much. Perfect for a morning of peace and quiet.

 

She whiles away an hour alone before Hanzo walks in. He looks about the empty room, then gestures to the couch with the paperback he's carrying and quirks his brow. Asking to join. Hana nods and shuffles over to make room.

 

Hanzo's weird. He acts so old-fashioned sometimes, like he's a character from an old film. In some ways he reminds her of her officers from basic training. Stern and always scowling. So tightly wound it's a miracle he hasn't blown up like her MEKA. The kind of guy who occasionally needs people to drag his head out his own ass so he can see where he's heading.

 

Although, given the way he's totally paying more attention to the projected screen of her handheld than his book – he hasn't turned a page in ten minutes – maybe he's not that bad. Maybe all the gruffness and the grumpy face is a front. A mask. A way of coping.

 

Hana might know a thing or two about what that's like.

 

“What's that you're playin'?” a deep voice says in her ear.

 

She doesn't jump. She's known the cowboy's been standing behind her since he came in the room. He likes to think he's sneaky, but even in the rare moments he isn't wearing his spurs he gives himself away with the stink of his cigars.

 

“ _Yoshi's Island_ ,” Hanzo answers.

 

Easy as that, McCree's attention is diverted.

 

“Oh yeah?” he crows, sounding way too delighted. The cushions sink a bit under his weight as he leans over the back of the couch. “Didn't peg you for knowin' about this kinda thing.”

 

Hanzo shrugs. “It is a classic from the last century. Genji used to play it a great deal when he was young.”

 

McCree's organic hand reaches over the cushions and taps Hanzo's clothed shoulder. “Only Genji, huh? You never played yourself?

 

Hanzo snorts and flicks McCree's wrist. “Don't be absurd.”

 

McCree straightens but lets his hand linger a moment. “There's gotta be somethin' you did for fun as a kid.”

 

“I've told you.” Hanzo nonchalantly turns the page he'd never finished reading. “I studied. I trained.”

 

“Hear that, Hana? Man acts like he's never done anythin' fun in his life.”

 

“Don't involve me in your drama,” Hana retorts, focussing aggressively on navigating Yoshi past a trio of koopas. She's used to this. Day in, day out, like a soap or a sitcom: What will the old guys needle each other about today? It would bore her to tears, if their tone hadn't changed over time. At least these days they seem less annoyed with each other, more amused.

 

Hana half-listens as they banter. She didn't believe Genji at first when he told her they got on well, but here's the evidence. They're practically flirting.

 

She blinks. On the screen, the little green dinosaur misses his jump and falls to a watery death. _No, they can't be..._

 

“C'mon, every man's got a hobby. And reading don't count.”

 

“Ah, yes,” Hanzo looks up, glances over his shoulder at McCree. “Let me guess – yours is cow-tipping, is it not? Or playing the banjo.”

 

“Alright, funnyman,” McCree rumbles, “play hard to get. I'll find out what you're into sooner or later, and when I do, you and me? We're goin' out.”

 

“I wish you luck,” Hanzo calls as the cowboy walks away.

 

“We're gonna have a good time, Shimada, you mark my words!”

 

Yep, definitely flirting. Hana rolls her eyes.

 

Hanzo chuckles quietly.

 

Hana hits pause and turns to looks at him. His face is schooled, but he doesn't fool her. His mouth is still twitching minutely in the corner.

 

“I heard that.”

 

He grunts. “Hm.”

 

“You do have emotions after all.”

 

He continues pretending to read his book, aloof. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

 

_Challenge accepted._ “Whatever, _Mokeunaipeo_.” She pokes his knee with her toe. “Don't worry. Your secrets are safe with me.”

 

Hanzo's dark eyes raise from her intruding foot to her face, unimpressed. Hana lifts her brows and stares right back. He can't fool her.

 

But he can catch her off guard. After a moment he scowls theatrically, sticking out his tongue like a child. She laughs, surprised, kicking his thigh with her heel.

 

“Alright, tell you what,” she says when she's recovered. She pokes him with her toes again. “You give me some archery lessons, and _I_ will let you borrow _this_.” She waves the handheld and watches as his eyes flick to it. _Got him._

 

It only takes a second for Hanzo to deliberate.

 

“You have a deal,” he says.

 

Hana smirks as they shake on it. Of course she does. She plays to win.

 

 

*

 

MERCY:

 

Angela isn't one to worry. She _isn't_. She has far too much to do and not enough hours in the day to do it, so she doesn't waste time stewing in fears and regrets.

 

This doesn't mean she can't sometimes get _concerned._

 

She's walking back to her clinic from one of the supply rooms, a sealed box of new bandages in hand, when she hears it: voices carrying around the corner of the corridor. Deep voices. Jesse's she'd recognise anywhere, and if she isn't mistaken the other, gruff and haughty, belongs to Genji's brother. They're too quiet to hear more than a murmur of sound, but whatever they're discussing, it seems heated.

 

In most cases this is the sort of thing she would simply walk past and ignore. It isn't any of her business, and while she may have a well-tamed weakness for gossip it isn't something she goes around actively seeking.

 

But this isn't most cases. Angela has a rather frustrating soft-spot for Jesse, and... well. She's wary of Hanzo. Obviously she'd never let misgivings interfere with her duties, and if she's being generous she supposes the fact that a smart, sensible girl like Hana likes him stands in his favor, but... Hana doesn't _know._

 

Angela _remembers_ Genji. How could she not? She knows better than any just what Hanzo did to him.

 

A dose of caution is perfectly healthy.

 

So she slows to a stop, still hidden in the shadow of the corner, and peeks round. She won't interrupt, not yet, but if she needs to...

 

They haven't noticed her approach, too intent on their own argument. It seems to have grown more intense; as she watches, Jesse narrows his eyes, stepping into Hanzo's space. Hanzo lifts his chin, defiant. Daring.

 

Part of Angela snorts in amusement at the sight of them, squaring off like a pair of territorial bucks about to knock skulls. The rest of her – yes, okay, _worries_. Conflict between agents has never been pleasant but these days it's so much harder to deal with, knowing what it led to before.

 

She watches, anxiety crawling up her throat, as the men stare each other down in silence.

 

Agonising seconds tick past. Then Hanzo says something, and Jesse laughs.

 

He _laughs_. A great burst of it, high-pitched with surprise and startlingly loud in the echoing corridor. Angela lets out a quiet breath, relieved.

 

But Jesse doesn't pull away, as she expects – nor does Hanzo. The opposite, in fact. Jesse wrangles his laughter into a smirk. Even from this distance the spark in his brown eyes is as challenging as the jut of Hanzo's jaw. He leans in, leans down, and still Hanzo looks up at him – chin still raised, _mouth_ raised –

 

Oh, she thinks. _Oh._

 

It happens fast.

 

Hanzo lifts up and kisses Jesse full on the mouth.

 

In the same movement he sweeps the hat from Jesse's head, shoves it into his face and pivots away, walking swiftly down the hall and out of sight.

 

Jesse stands frozen in the middle of the walkway, holding the hat over his face. Slowly, he pulls it away and lowers it to his chest, pressing it over his heart. His eyes are wide now, dazed. Surprised like his laugh had been.

 

Just as slow, a smile blooms on his face. Brilliant and youthful. He takes a jangly step back and slumps against the wall, half swooning, still smiling, hat over heart. He turns his head to look down the hall after Hanzo's footsteps, and he looks happy.

 

He looks happy.

 

Angela has work to do. She leaves him be.

 

 

*

 

PHARAH:

 

Fareeha drops her helmet into her lap and leans back against the wall with a sigh. The vibrating hum of the carrier reverberates through her skull. Not very restful, but it batters over the blasts of her rockets still hammering in her head.

 

All her life she wanted to be a soldier. To serve a greater purpose, defending those who can't defend themselves. She's worked hard to get where she is and she's proud of her achievements, but that doesn't make the reality of battle easier to deal with.

 

This latest fight was tough, hard-won. Fareeha is not the only one feeling tired and subdued. At least it ended with no fatalities; none for Overwatch, and none among the civilians they went to protect. Talon weren't so lucky.

 

No casualties doesn't mean no injuries, however. Opposite her across the aisle sits the archer, stiff in his seat by the window, right hand pressed against the bandages on his bare side. He'll be fine – the bullet wound was shallow, and Mercy's already treated it – but Fareeha knows as well as any that healing requires sitting through the pain. Easier said than done.

 

They haven't spoken much, her and Hanzo. He's a private man – and a little volatile, she thinks secretly – but perhaps it's time she made an effort. After all, this was her mission. Her orders he was following when he was hurt. But it can wait. She's not going to corner him when he's vulnerable, and besides, he isn't sitting in pain alone.

 

Jesse's folded into the seat next to him, their knees pressed close together. The cowboy looks for all the world like he's dozing, slumped with his arms crossed, scruffy chin dipped to his chest, but Fareeha has known him long enough to recognise his oldest bluffs. He's perfectly alert, only playing at rest. It's common knowledge that Jesse gets grumpy if he's woken from a nap. No one will want to disturb him, so no one will walk past him to bother Hanzo either. A small, silent kindness. He's always been good at those.

 

Sure enough, his eyes shoot open when a jolt of turbulence makes Hanzo stiffen and wince.

 

“Alright?” he murmurs, barely audible over the engines.

 

Hanzo grunts. “What do you think.”

 

Jesse's mouth slopes sideways in a sympathetic smile. Fareeha watches, fond with nostalgia, as he takes off his hat and sets it snugly on Hanzo's head. He used to do the same thing to her when she was a kid – when he was practically still a kid himself. How many hours did she spend running around HQ with that same dusty hat on her own head? Too many to count – though the hat was less dusty then, less worn.

 

Twenty years is a long time to know someone. Neither of them are the people they once were. It's good to know that despite all that's happened, some things never change.

 

But Jesse, always testing the boundaries, has to take it one step further. He snakes his arm behind Hanzo's neck, cups his hand over a muscular shoulder.

 

Fareeha beats down a smirk. _Smooth, Jesse._ No way he's going to get away with that one.

 

But the archer doesn't react. He exhales softly and rests back against Jesse's arm, eyes slipping closed. Like it's a position he's used to.

 

Well. That answers some questions, then. Fareeha meets Jesse's gaze across the aisle and lets her grin slip free. _Good for you, cowboy. I'm glad._

 

Jesse's own grin is soft and, honestly, a bit dopey. He rubs circles into Hanzo's collar with his thumb. _Yeah, me too. I got lucky._

 

She nods at him and turns away, granting them their privacy.

 

The exchange tugs gently at her heart. Something about the two of them together reminds her of Mercy: a healing touch, a sense of comfort. A friend become something more.

 

Fareeha glances over to the other side of the carrier, where Angela's been watching them with a slightly constipated look on her face. She shoots her a wink. When the doctor blushes she grins and settles back in her seat, warmed by companionship and the satisfaction of a job well done.

 

 

*

 

SOLIDER:76:

 

The last few rounds empty into the dummies in a barrage of blue lights. Jack reaches for a new cartridge, grumbles when he comes up short. None attached to his belt. None set aside, either. Damn it. This is what he gets for deciding target practice past midnight sounded like a good idea, he supposes. He isn't paying enough attention. Can't shoot a gun without any ammo.

 

Switching on the safety, he leaves his pulse rifle on the bench. New munitions came through in the supplies yesterday; it should all be sitting in its cases down in storage depot 3. He may as well unpack it. God knows he needs something to do.

 

He only runs into one person on the walk down there from the range. Unfortunately, they're the one person here in Gibraltar he's found himself least able to deal with. His old friends and comrades are nothing compared to the tall, proud figure of Ana's daughter, everything about her a walking memory, a window back in time to when things were simpler. Back before they all fell apart.

 

“Soldier,” she greets. He nods at her as he passes by. No words for Captain Amari. He can't trust himself to speak too much around her without giving something away.

 

“Are you heading to the supply depot?” she calls after him. “I wouldn't go in there if I were you.”

 

Despite his best interests he stops and glances back over his shoulder. Her lips curve in a bright little grin. Jack waits for her to elaborate, chest echoing with a dull ache. A wound so old it tires him more than it hurts.

 

She looks so much like her mother.

 

Acts like her mother, too. Respectful but stubborn as hell, never giving an edge without a fight. Always giving him a hard time. Briefly, he spares a moment to wonder where the Shrike is now. If she knows how strong a woman her daughter has become.

 

Fareeha's grin grows wider. Relenting, he grunts. “Why not?”

 

“I'd give it 30 minutes. An hour to be safe. Just... trust me.”

 

He does trust her, as much as he can trust anyone, but – damn it. Now he's curious.

 

Maybe that Fawkes boy has set up one of his 'experiments', or the other new kids are planning some sort of prank. Jack wouldn't put it past them. He marches down to the depot and cards himself in. Nothing seems suspicious at first, save that the lights are on, but maybe someone just forgot to turn them off when they left? He dismisses the idea. Unlikely. Athena would've switched them off automatically.

 

A noise down one of the aisles: a scrape, a rustle of movement. Jack sighs inwardly and goes to investigate. He passes a pile of crates and turns the corner.

 

It's not the new kids.

 

He sees a broad, muscled back. Brown hairy legs wrapped around a paler waist, toes curling, and there's skin everywhere and hands clutching and the table feet squeaking against the floor as they move and – oh god. Oh, _god_.

 

“ _Oh god_ ,” McCree moans, _“Hanzo-!”_

 

Embarrassment surges through him. He stumbles back a step and clinks into something. Two heads whip round at the noise, flushed and wide-eyed. They spot him.

 

Jack makes a tactical decision. He flees.

 

 

*

 

GENJI:

 

Genji finds McCree on the roof, smoking.

 

“Hey darlin',” Jesse calls, turning with an affectionate smile dimpling his cheeks. “Was wonderin' where you... uh. Genji. It's you.”

 

“Were you expecting someone else?” Genji teases, grinning under his visor as he crosses the rooftop. “A different dragon, perhaps?”

 

McCree turns ruddy under his beard. “Well, maybe I was. What of it.”

 

Genji laughs and drops down cross-legged next to him.

 

As usual, McCree recovers quickly. “So what brings you to my fine self?” he drawls. “Wait – 76 didn't send you, did he? He's been throwin' me the stink-eye all morning.”

 

“How can you tell? He wears a visor.”

 

“Got a sixth sense about these things,” says McCree, tapping the side of his nose. “'Sides, I hang around with you enough, don't I? I've had the practice.”

 

“You have a point. But no, I haven't spoken with him. I'm here of my own volition.”

 

Jesse purses his lips around his cigar. “You wanna chat about me n' your brother, I'm guessin'.”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“You ain't gonna lecture me, are you? Doc's already gone wrung me ragged.”

 

“Lecture you? No. You're both grown men. What you choose to do in your spare time is none of my business.” If anything, Genji's relieved. Hanzo has always been good at denying himself when he wants things. The fact he isn't running from this is more reassuring than he'd admit. “Besides, I know you. If I had concerns I would have raised them a while ago.”

 

Jesse stubs his cigar out on his metal arm and tucks the remainder into his shirt pocket. “You figured it out quick, huh.”

 

“Does that bother you? You haven't been trying to hide it, have you?”

 

“Nah, nothin' like that. Not the type to go crowin' from the rooftops, is all.”

 

Genji nods, understanding. Then Jesse's earlier question piques his curiosity. He tilts his head. “Why would 76 be angry with you?”

 

“Ah. We may have, uh. Heh.” Jesse chuffs a laugh. “Given him a bit of an eyeful.”

 

“Oh? How did you manage that?”

 

Jesse's smirk curls in the corners, lewd and smug. “Got busy in the storage bay.”

 

Genji pulls off his visor so he can spill his laughter into the air. “You didn't! No, actually, I believe it. From you at least.” He squints at McCree in mock-suspicion. “But how did you persuade Hanzo?”

 

“Hey, don't look at me like that! Takes two to tango, you know. Not sure what your brother expects me to do if he insists on walkin' around half-naked all the time.”

 

“I don't see how it's my fault you cannot keep your paws to yourself.”

 

Jesse grins wide, eyes bright. “Hey darlin'!” he calls over his shoulder. Hanzo taps across the rooftop towards them. “We were just talkin' about you.”

 

“So I heard.” Hanzo kneels on Genji's other side. “Disparaging my character again?”

 

“Honey, I'd never! I was complimentin' your fine physique.”

 

The two of them chat back and forth, easy and relaxed. Genji leans back on his palms and watches them. He saw this coming, but even he couldn't have predicted the ways they would fit together with such tender, genuine affection.

 

Having his brother back in his life is better than he could have imagined. The blood family he loves, finally become part of the family he chose for himself. His two worlds reconciled.

 

It doesn't take Hanzo long to notice he's being watched. As McCree rambles he glances side-eyed at Genji and raises his eyebrow. Genji can only smile at him. Hanzo stares back a moment before his own face softens – the smile Genji remembers him wearing as a boy.

 

Genji leaves the two of them alone on the rooftop. When he glances back before he goes in the building, Hanzo has shuffled across, closing the gap between them. Jesse's arm comes to rest around his back.

 

Genji smiles and goes inside.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hana calls Hanzo 'Mokeunaipeo', the Korean name for Decidueye, which lbr is just hanzo in pokemon form
> 
> I figure Jack is the kind of guy who's always walking in on people because he _never goddamn knocks_


End file.
